


and still i will live here

by theatrythms



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - World War I, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hogwarts Professors, Magic, Miscommunication, Romance, Sharing a Bed, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatrythms/pseuds/theatrythms
Summary: (Anne remembers fourth year as a sweet turning point, an act of peace between them, when their rivalry became much more mutually beneficial. They spent their days in the library, coordinating their attempts to sneak into the restricted section, keeping teachers behind after class and quizzing each other on top of the astronomy tower. Sixth year came with the promotion to Prefect, and the joy of being Head Girl with him as her Head Boy turned to ash when the war came.)Or; Hogwarts Professor-and-Healer au.





	1. never believe its not so

**Author's Note:**

> i have a seperate google doc dedicated to notes ive made while writing this and my general takeaways from writing this is that farming with magic must be so much easier, and that this is the most indulgent thing ive ever written  
listen . i get that the fantastic beast series is set around this time but truly i saw the first one and bounced when they announced j*hnny d*pp was gonna be in the second one , so if theres inconsistancies w it thats probably on purpose bc who has the time and all that . what the fuck is a global wizarding war, bitch ill fucking kill you like  
additionally i decided that since canada at the time was in the british empire and is still in the commonwealth that avonlea students going isnt widely far off . again , what the fuck is ilvermony , bitch ill fucking kill you  
i'm also joining the 'uses mitski lyrics in axg fic' club bc truly . i will is Their Song
> 
> edit : 16/6/2020  
i just wanna say since this is a harry potter fic i wanna say i dont condone or support jkr's beliefs on trans people, and if you do maybe this fic isnt for you !!! thank you so much for all of the insane support and love for this fic , it really does mean the world !!!!!

i)

The first thing she does after meeting the medical wing’s new mediwizard, is stick her head in her fireplace, and try and call Diana.

“Oh Anne, you’re overreacting.” Diana pats the baby’s back gently, keeping him high up on her shoulder.

“I’m not overreacting, this is a horrible, dreadful thing that’s happened and all of my students had to see me react like that.” Anne sighs, settling deeper into the coals. Her sleeping quarters is about the size of the rooms the student’s shared, only they came with no roommates, with a big four poster bed, a personal washroom right off in the corner, and a big marble fireplace big enough for her to talk through, big enough for her to use the floo, a box of green power within arm’s reach.

“Isn’t it nice to not be the only new staff member anymore? And it’s someone your age too!” Diana always likes to look on the brighter side of things.

“I’d prefer if it was you,” Anne sulks, feeling very childish at twenty three years of age. “Anyone but Gilbert Blythe-”

“Dr Gilbert Blythe now, you mean.” Diana stresses, and even through the fire Anne can see the mirth in her eyes, even if she is so tired, with the baby keeping her up all night. “Even outside of Avonlea everyone’s talking about it. And you too, of course. It’s not everyday one of us goes on to become a _ professor of charms in Hogwarts-” _

“Diana I’m only an assistant! There’s no need to keep bragging-”

“And now the two of you are there! It must be like our school days again!”

Anne groans again, feeling her shoulders slump, until she sat fully hunched into the fire. She arrived in the infirmary, expecting one of the old healers from last year to receive her bleeding pupil, and instead found her school friend all the way from Canada in his white and grey robes, who fixed the boy’s broken nose in less than a minute.

The doctor was everything and nothing like her school academic rival.

“Oh I hope not. He was unbearable.” She scowls, thinking of how infuriating he was in his Hufflepuff uniform.

“You were both unbearable. It’s a miracle you were both so abysmal at Quidditch, or else there would’ve been physical blows, of course unless you count the train-”

“Diana!” Anne cries, startling the baby. It’s been over a decade since she slammed her half-read transfiguration book over his head on their first train ride on the Hogwarts express, but of course no one will let Anne live it down.

Diana starts to soothe her son, tucking some of the baby’s brown hair back into his little cap. At two months old, baby Fred must know more French than Anne can say she knows in a lifetime.

(Frédéric Baynard is the Barry Family’s first great scandal of the twentieth century. The Barry family are a long line of pureblood wizards and witches in both England and Canada, and Jerry Baynard is Anne’s half-blood childhood friend, who loves his wife deeply.)

“Oh I’m sorry Freddie,” Anne cooes, before glancing at Diana’s clock on the wall. “I should leave you to sleep, it’s getting late here. And I have a full day of classes tomorrow.”

“You should floo over, when you don’t have seven classes of teenagers to look after.” She was lucky the baby was born after the term dwindled to an end, and jumping from the Hogwarts express to the international Floo station was so much easier without the responsibilities of academia.

“Come to Hogsmeade then, all of you; you, the baby and Jerry!”

“Maybe I will.”

“Goodnight Diana,” Anne says, pulling herself from the fireplace.

“Oh Anne!” Diana calls, dragging her back through the flames. “Tell Minnie May I said hello.” She says softly, with all of the heartbreak in the world.

“You know I will.” Anne says, and the chill of her room is there to greet her.

ii)

“It’s strange, isn’t it.” Gilbert says, seven steps away from entering the Great Hall, as dinner began in full force. Students swam around them, gathered into packs that dispersed in four ways, like strong tributaries, flowing into the four distinct tables of the houses.

“To be back?” Anne finishes for him, because she understands what he means.

Gilbert simply nods, his eyes catching the hanging candles. “I feel like I’m going to get reprimanded for not wearing my uniform properly.”

“You are wearing your uniform properly,” Anne says, the beginnings of a grin starting. “You’re just not wearing a school uniform. You’re a doctor now.”

His laugh is deeper than their days in Hogwarts, with a denser ring to it. “I suppose you’re right.” He meets her eye, smiling. “And you’re a teacher now. I had a student down in the ward with me, says Professor Cuthbert’s charms lessons are always the best.”

“With something as incredible as magic, why have boring magic classes. It doesn’t make sense.” Anne shrugs, watching the food arrive through the table. “Charms is at the core of magic, the essence of making something do something different entirely.”

“You used to say that when we were students.” He notes, then rolls his wrists, sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s got me so nervous all of a sudden. I feel like a first year again, waiting to be sorted. It’s been a few years since I was here.”

Anne doesn’t know how to respond.

_ “The War doesn’t need you!” _

“It’s been some time indeed.” Anne muses instead. Standing in the pensive silence feels like it drags on for ages, as the crowds thin out around them, as the meal begins in earnest, and Professor Black finally takes his seat. In a caring gesture, Anne brushes his elbow, and takes the first step for him, even if he won’t. “You can sit with me, if you’d like.”

“Well, I’d like that a lot, Professor Cuthbert.”

iii)

“The hospital can stay ticking over for at least one afternoon, Dr Blythe.” She says, peering her head into his office.

“There’s Quidditch practice today for Gryffindor and Slytherin today, and brooms are just accidents waiting to happen, no matter how trained one is.” In his grey robes, he looks awfully stiff, the potions brewing themselves in the corner, the chalkboard full of calculations, everything meticulous and everything having its place, a far cry from the warpath of pages and textbooks in Anne’s office.

Anne grins, shaking her head. “By acting like that, you only tempt a mishap. If you come to Hogsmeade, there’s no possibility of that even happening.”

  


He seems humored, looking up from his notes. “If only you were this eager to go to Hogsmeade with me when we were students.”

It sends a jolt right to her heart, to hear him speak so plainly like that. They ran in the same circles, in the same tight-knit group of overseas students from various parts of the British Empire, and it was hard to avoid him when he came from home. Their early years hadn’t been exactly smooth sailing.

(Anne remembers fourth year as a sweet turning point, an act of peace between them, when their rivalry became much more mutually beneficial. They spent their days in the library, coordinating their attempts to sneak into the restricted section, keeping teachers behind after class and quizzing each other on top of the astronomy tower. Sixth year came with the promotion to Prefect, and the joy of being Head Girl with him as her Head Boy turned to ash when the war came.)

“We always went to Hogsmeade together. We went with everyone.” Their corner of Prince Edward’s Island travelled like a herd from shop to shop, to finally retire in the Three Broomsticks, and back to the castle they went together too.

Gilbert steps towards her, so he lingers in the frame of the door, already shrugging his grey robes off. His eyes are kind, even if his voice is pained. “You know what I mean Anne.”

iv)

Ms Stacy was brought to Hogwarts in their second year, the eccentric transfiguration teacher, with a heavily seasoned career as an Auror before finding her home in Hogwarts.

The Avonlea children liked her because she was from mainland Canada. She’d chosen to study in Ilvermorny. The option had been extended to Anne, and all of the other’s, but following their parents legacy was bigger than taking new steps.

“I was in House Thunderbird,” She’d stated on her first day, fresh from flying over the sea. “But I’ve been told Ravenclaw might be where I belong.”

(Her husband had worn the blue and bronze with his Auror robes, and his patronus sprouted great white wings like an eagle.)

At the end of Gilbert’s first month, she has both him and Anne over for tea, in her little cottage just beyond the caretaker’s, flirting with the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It’s private and individual, in a way that Anne doesn’t think Hogwarts has the capacity for. Rumors were forced to be quelled when Professor Stacy arrived, ideas roaming that in her little singular home, she hid all sorts of things. Dark arts, cursed artifacts, unregistered house elves and other magical creatures, or some secret love child she’d had outside of marriage.

“Truth be told, I just love my own space.” She had said, honestly. “I know most of your parents are unhappy that I’m not Hogwarts alum, or because of my previous career, or a whole other plethora of complaints. But I’m happy here, and as long as you’re happy with my teaching and it stays that way, I can’t see myself leaving anytime soon.”

She’d earned a lot of respect from Anne that day, because for the first time in the longest time, Anne had felt like a teacher was addressing her as an equal, rather than an inferior.

“Surely you feel strange too.” Gilbert mutters, taking the steps down to her cottage two at a time. “Being so casual with one of our teachers.”

“You get used to it,” Anne shrugs. Hogwarts in any season is always a pretty sight, but there’s something in the stillness of autumn, looking over the orange-tinged trees, and the dead leaves wafting in the arms. “And I’m sure that Ms Stacy is far too professional to get caught up with stuff like that.”

“Yet you still call her Ms Stacy.”

“Oh give over!”

v)

Just before Halloween, Anne sends four students down to the hospital wing, shaky, pale and sneezing, and another six the day after.

It leads her to the infirmary, anxiously hanging by the door as the medics went up and down the long hall, conjuring new rows of beds and levitating potions over patients’ heads.

Hogwarts isn’t equipped to tackle an outbreak, Anne knows, and even if it is just an autumn cold, the world still hadn’t recovered from the epidemic after the war. Half-hiding in the door, she watches Gilbert go from bed to bed, his hands clasped behind his back, a sympathetic expression on his face as he talks to the students. Gilbert is always thoughtful, always considerate of the people around him. It’s what made him such a good Hufflepuff, Anne supposes. He was a respected prefect for a reason, and his brief time as the Head Boy.

“I’m afraid staff isn’t treated down here, Professor Cuthbert.” She doesn’t notice him slide up to her, leaning against the door. Cautiously, he looks over her face, brushing a stray piece of dust from the shoulder of her robes. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course, I’m fine.” She says, her voice strangely high. As if to prove her point, she peers around him, back to the sluggish speed of the hospital wing. “I’m here to check if my students are alright.”

“Bringing extra materials? I had a fifth year complaining she was missing your NEWTs class.”

“I’m not like Mr Philipps!”

Gilbert laughs, dodging her swatting hands. Mr Philipps had really been the most awful teacher Anne ever encountered in her time in Hogwarts. People who hated all aspects of teaching magical children didn’t have a place in the halls of Hogwarts, was the key lesson she had learnt from her first and second year transfiguration classes. For a man who could turn into a peacock at will, he certainly made a fitting bird.

“I didn’t say you are.” Gilbert jests. Then he shifts, leaning forward. Anne’s heart catches in her throat, having him so close. “Though you should be careful, make sure you don’t get sick. It’s hardly the Spanish Influenza but it’s still troublesome at the beginning of term.”

“You must know an awful lot about that.” Anne says, before she can stop herself.

His face falls, for the briefest of moments. There’s a no man’s land stretching between them, an obvious chasm full of Anne’s questions and all of Gilbert’s experiences he’s hidden from everyone else. He recovers, pulling his shoulders up in a fluid motion, standing to full height. “I was still with the Red Cross during the darkest hours, then found myself in a bed somewhere in the south of France, asking for Avonlea.”

Anne inhales sharply, imagining poor Gilbert, lucid and alone, far away from the ones he loved and the place he called home. Gilbert was barely twenty when the war ended, still a boy himself. Hogwarts was always so shielded from the war. To the Wizarding World, the war was on their doorsteps but entirely removed for them, something to be thought about for another day.

A mediwitch quietly approaches them, calling Gilbert over to one of the beds. It breaks the space between them, reminding Anne that Gilbert is here, with her again, not in the war, not dying in the South of France; but with her.

With a tentative smile, he bows his head. “Take care of yourself, Anne. I’d hate for you to get sick.”

But it seems the days where she lived to spite him hadn’t ended yet.

Halloween comes with a pounding headache, chills all over her body, not enough blankets in her sleeping quarters, not enough heat in the room. Of all of the days to be sick, of all of the feasts to miss, it has to be her favourite, except for the ones days before everyone left for Christmas. Professor Black has forced her to take the next two days of classes off, and a third one in St Mungos should the need arrive.

Her door opens just a fraction, Gilbert’s face poking through the dim light. “One of the house elves sent word you weren’t feeling well.”

Her head swims as she struggles to sit up, her bones feeling like lead. “Gilbert?”

“I’ve brought some dinner, if you’re up for it. And a potion the sick students have responded well to.” The levitating tray that follows him rests on her desk as he takes a seat on the end of her bed, his hand coming to feel her forehead. “It must be relatively mild, if you were able to do your classes today.”

“I felt like I was teaching underwater.” Anne confesses, relaxing into his touch.

Gilbert hands her the potion, the color a strained blue, closer to a stormy sky, than the solid royal blue of her Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around her bedpost. “Hopefully this will make you feel better.”

Anne takes it with enthusiasm, sending him a glare before opening the bottle. “There’ll be words if it doesn’t, Dr. Blythe.”

He does a few more checks, waving his wand over her forehead to get her temperature, heart rate, and blood sugar levels. He also pushes the tray of food into her lap, mulling at her charms books as she finishes the pumpkin soup.

“You missed the feast!” Anne realises, dropping her spoon onto her comforter. “I’m so sorry!”

“I’ll get something from the kitchens on my way back to bed.” His lips curl upwards, cleaning up the stain with his wand. “I’m a Hufflepuff, remember? I’m fairly familiar with that area of the castle.”

“But the feast is always so magical. It was your favourite time of the year.” She’s suddenly very tired, Gilbert’s potion taking effect after having something to eat, pulling her into sleep as he puts her book back on the shelf. Her yawn is long and drawn, but she’s too exhausted to be embarrassed by it.

“Everything here is magical, Anne.” Gilbert says softly, fixing her blankets. He leans against the wooden post at beside her. 

Everything feels fuzzy, or far away, like Anne is only Anne here, not a teacher, not a woman, not tied to the world around her. It’s just him, looking down at her.

“Will you stay?” She says, her voice only a fraction. Her fingers curl around his elbow and pull weakly, until he’s lying on his side next to her, his breath cool against her face. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

_ “I have to go Anne-” _

_ “You don’t have to go anywhere!” The Ravenclaw scarf seemed to fly in every direction that day, the wind wrapping it closer to her, as if it could protect her. “Stay here. Be Head Boy. Stay in Hogwarts.” _

_ The wind took her words from her, the same way the war took him.“Stay here with me.” _

“Okay, Anne.” He says softly. “I’ll stay, just for a while.”

_ “I’ve already enlisted Anne!” He had yelled, and it broke her heart in two. _

vi)

Cole McKinsey was sorted into Gryffindor at age eleven, but it was clear that the lion didn’t leave him, even after he left Hogwarts.

“Do you ever hear about our old Hogwarts chums and feel glad that’s not your life?” He asks, trying to slide one of the glasses of firewhiskey across the table. Cole visits when he can, which is more frequent than Diana, with the floo between London and Hogsmeade easier to connect. “Also are you going to drink that?”

“Cole,” Anne says, looking around at the Three Broomsticks. “Students come here. They can’t see me drinking _ alcohol _.”

“Oh Anne, the finest educator I know.”

“I missed a full week because I was ill, that’s hardly makes me a gold standard teacher. Do you remember any of our teachers being sick when we were in school?” Anne muses, taking a sip of her butterbeer.

“Well, if I had Gilbert Blythe as my personal doctor I’d get sick a lot more often.” Cole says, making Anne cough into her glass. He always sounds so cautious, tentative when he makes jokes like that.

“Cole!”

“I’m glad he’s done well for himself. Everytime I see Josie in London I can’t help but be grateful I don’t work in the Ministry. Or live in Avonlea, to be honest.”

There was something about their school days that seemed to open Cole up like a bud, until he bloomed in London, in Paris, in metropolises across Europe. Aunt Josephine is the matriarch of one of the oldest wizarding families in the world, who found a corner of Canada to settle into, a small wizarding village from around all sorts. Cole doesn’t have an official title, for the work he does on behalf of Josephine Barry, but influencing the arts beyond the magical world was certainly something he put a great deal of effort into it.

“I miss Avonlea.” Anne says, suddenly, tracing the rim of her glass. The year before, her first year in Hogwarts alone, the first without Diana or Cole or Ruby, the second without Gilbert, had been so lonely, and wishing for Avonlea was the only thing that kept her ticking on. “I wish I was closer to Diana, and baby Fred. I wish Ruby was closer too, but she’s in university. I wish I was closer to Marilla and Matthew too.” She shakes herself gently, grounding herself back in place. “Excuse me for that. I think having Gilbert around is making me nostalgic for our own Hogwarts days.”

“You know I’m always here for you. Always, always.” Cole’s hand reaches out to hers, squeezing her fingers in his. “And as for Gilbert, just think of it as compensating for the year he missed, when you think of it. It didn’t feel right when he left.”

Anne seems to forget all of her melancholy when he mentions their final year. “It’s easy for you to say, you didn’t have to be Head Girl all by yourself.”

“I think Josie made an incredible deputy Head Girl, I’ll have you know. When she becomes the Minister of Magic I’m sure she’ll thank you in her acceptance speech.”

It drags a laugh out of Anne, thinking back to her final year. It had been lonely almost, but with Josie as her replacement Hufflepuff to step in, it wasn’t all so bad.

They were in school during a war, it was hard to be children then.

“I always love when we’re together.” Anne says, and means it with her whole heart.

Cole smiles, and she knows he feels the same.

vii)

She meets him in the courtyard, amongst the flurry of students running around the cobbles. His luggage is light, a trunk small enough to hold in his hand, and his travelling robes are such a deep navy blue, he looks like he’s fresh out of Ravenclaw Tower.

(Anne’s own mustard scarf doesn’t go unnoticed.)

“Ready for the walk down?” He asks, reaching his hand out to take her trunk. “Any reason why it’s so heavy?” Gilbert huffs, starting to walk out of the school. Before them, the bridge stretches wide over the frozen lake, mirroring the dark stormy sky above. It’s a crowd of black robes and pointed hats, House scarves wrapped around each student, kept in clumps of amber, vermillion, azure and emerald.

“Christmas presents.” Anne tugs it out of his grip. “And I have a lot.”

“Mainly for baby Fred?”

“... Diana gets some too.”

“Well, you’ll have to send my love to Diana and everyone.” He says, chuckling.

Anne stops, looking at him quizzically. Around them, Hogwarts is frozen in the snow, the chill pulling them to the train station. From there Anne will arrive in London, find Cole and Josie and Ruby by the international Floo transit, and arrive in Charlottestown for the holidays.

It was silly to think Gilbert would be there with them. They never spoke about their plans.

“You’re not coming home?”

He looks up at the cloudy sky, the snowflakes caught in his hair. He always managed to look effortlessly handsome, even caught unaware. Anne buries her red face in her scarf. “I have some friends I haven’t seen in awhile.” Gilbert says, his head still tilted upwards. “They’ve invited me for New Years in London, and I’m not sure what’s in Avonlea for me.”

“You could come to Green Gables.” Anne says, looking determinedly down at her boots. “There’s always space there. Granted, it might be busy since we’ll have Diana and Jerry and Fred, but your friends could always come too-”

“My friends are muggles, Anne, I’m not sure they’d react very well to floo-ing across the world.”

“Muggles?” Anne’s eyes widen, certainly intrigued by it. Avonlea is a magic town, small in numbers, big in heart, but they kept their connections to the wizarding world close. Anne spent enough time surrounded by non-wizarding families getting chucked around the foster system, but it was still a soft surprise.

Anne isn’t sure of her own bloodline, if she was a muggleborn, if she had magical parents, and it’s something she’s always thought about, growing up with Diana’s extensive knowledge on the Barry Family, Cole’s family in Ireland he always found time to visit, living around old wizarding families in Avonlea like the Cuthberts and the Blythes and the Gillis’. 

(They were in third year when John Blythe passed away, and Anne never had the heart to ask about his mother.)

“Or no-Majs, I guess, whatever you wanna call them.” Interaction with the non-magical realm is different in North America, where the two worlds stayed separate. England doesn’t try as hard, Anne noted, when she first came to Hogwarts, and the idea of being half-muggle, half-wizard was much more common. “Just some friends from the Red Cross. It’s about time we had a catch-up.” Gilbert says, with a soft smile, that once looked so strained when he’d mention the war.

She doesn’t know when he took the trunk off her again, dragging it along the cobble path. She could see the train in the distance, the smoke already pumping out its chimney, the swarm of passengers hounding at the doors. “What will you tell them about your life?” She asks, offhandedly. Hogwarts isn’t a place to be lied about, a place where its scale and grandeur and life couldn’t be hidden.

“That I’m a doctor’s apprentice in a boarding school up in Scotland.” Gilbert grins, almost proud of himself for coming up with that excuse. “It’s not really stretching the truth, is it?”

There’s a beat of silence, while she bends down to help haul the trunk onto the platform. “I hope you’re not by yourself on Christmas.” Anne says, biting her bottom lip.

He seems genuinely endeared by her, ducking his head bashfully. Despite the bells and whistles and scramble of the students, Anne can’t think of anything but him, and the quirk of his lip, and the vastness of his hazel eyes. When they’d all head back to Canada for the holidays, she couldn’t get away from him faster, only to miss him in the drawn out days in Avonlea, when she thought missing Hogwarts was just missing home.

(Then her final year came, and that feeling never left, even with her Head Girl pin, even in the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw.)

“I’m staying with a wizard friend for Christmas actually. His name is Bash, I met him by accident when the floo system sent me to Trinidad, of all places.” Gilbert says, and nudges her arm. “But thank you for the concern. Hopefully Bash’s Christmas is worth missing an Avonlea one.”

A whistle rings around the station, signifying that the train will depart soon. Gilbert’s head snaps up, watching as the students pile into the last remaining carriages. Anne wonders when she’ll stop feeling so nostalgic, longing for a time in her life she can’t reclaim.

(Gilbert must feel the same.)

“Would you mind sharing a carriage with me?” He asks, almost suddenly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Unless, of course, you want to hit me over the head with one of your transfiguration books again.”

“Gilbert!” Anne yells, turning red herself. “We were eleven!”

He rubs the back of his head. “And yet I still feel it like it was yesterday!” Without hesitation, he grabs her hand, walking towards the top of the train, with carriages reserved for staff. “It was mostly my fault, I called you carrots and pulled your hair.”

“And then you told me I was going to be sorted into Slytherin!”

“With the force of it I really thought I’d see you in red and gold, with your _ bravery, daring, nerve and chivalry,-” _

“If I agree to share a carriage with you, will you please let that go!”

“For you Anne,” He says, a whole lot more sincere than she’s expecting from him. It catches in her throat, when he looks at her, and Gilbert’s smile is almost radiant in the winter morning. “I’d do anything.”


	2. a life in your shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> january to may

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 !! title comes from strawberry blond by mitski !! another classic axg song

vii)

It’s hard to find a magical orphan in the Canadian adoption system, Anne understands that now. Marilla and Matthew wanted a boy, with an inclination to magic, who could help with the farm, but still adhere to their way of life.

Instead they got Anne Shirley, a young witch with dubious magical lineage, who’d been sent away from four homes, three orphanages, and one asylum, for having a loose grasp on her powers. The last straw was when she accidentally charmed the water pump of her last home to flood, the water cascading through the house and down to the basement.

(They’d sent someone to repair the house and  _ obliviate _ the Hammond’s memory of the event, until all they remembered was a reckless orphan who couldn’t do anything right.)

It wasn’t until she arrived in Green Gables, did she understand what it meant for her.

What made the Cuthbert siblings truly stand out was how they were the sole Slytherins in Avonlea, and that detail wasn’t lost on the village, even years after they’d left Hogwarts and returned home.

At first, Anne didn’t quite understand how the Cuthbert siblings were perceived to be so outlandish. Any Slytherin Anne met in Hogwarts, or taught years later, were always honest, with a strong resolve, and a grand sense of duty to one another. It showed with the Cuthberts, how decidedly loyal they were. Michael Cuthbert, the family Anne will never know, but who’s picture still grins down at her every day, was a Slytherin Head Boy, a bright wizard, heading for great things in the ministry.

(When Michael Cuthbert died, Matthew Cuthbert found himself unable to use his wand, to conjure spells, to transfigure objects. It was as if overnight, grief had stolen his magic, and at the young age of fourteen, found that he had no place in Hogwarts.

Of course then Anne arrived, a nine year old orphan with no sense of control, and managed to unlock the buried magic, find the root of the block, and Green Gables was more merry than it had been in close to thirty years.)

Christmas is full of the same joy of the summer, the same warmth of the endless Avonlea days. Instead of staying in London, or crawling across Europe and Asia with Cole, Anne stayed home, savouring all of the year she’d missed. Anne would sit with Diana every morning, afternoon and evening, waiting for Jerry to come in, and then waiting for the baby as the days began to get shorter and shorter.

Fred was born a month before Anne returned to Hogwarts, in the balmy Avonlea heat. It was a small affair, a far cry from the world her parents thought she’d live in. Aunt Josephine had corralled Minnie May to the birth too, through some firm connection Anne can only assume comes from being the only two Barrys in Gryffindor, and like that, Anne was a godmother, to a baby with a wonderful wizarding name Anne couldn’t help but envy.

“Frédéric Alphonse Mercury Gorden Barry Baynard is a bit of a mouthful.” Minerva May Barry had frowned, receiving a swift elbow from Aunt Josephine.

Christmas in Avonlea doesn’t come with four full tables of food, with students that follow, and the Christmas trees in the Great Hall, or the endless sky above them, or Gilbert Blythe, with snowflakes melting in his hair. But Avonlea has Marilla, and Matthew, and it’s the first place Anne has ever called home. They wind a charm around the house to keep the candles floating, like the hovering lights above the Great Hall, and Anne had her two homes all in one place. At first Marilla didn’t humour it, until Anne’s second year Christmas, and she returned to the charm already in place.

“And you’re happy, Anne?” Marilla says, smiling softly, interrupting Anne’s rant about her fourth year class. “You’re happy in Hogwarts?”

Anne lowers her hands, letting them rest on the table. The magic in Green Gables is always very subtle, with the dishes working away in the sink, the fires always burning brightly. “I’m always happy in Hogwarts, you know that.”

“But happy as a teacher?”

Anne stops, for a split second. Teaching is hard work, it’s not for the faint of heart. Anne knows that students are challenging and their own individual assorted messes because Anne was one herself, and if there’s anyone in the world who can help chart the future into an unclear future, it’s her.

(Teaching also comes with living far away from her family, away from everyone she loves, in a castle she left with a war ravishing across the country. The people made Hogwarts home, not the echoing brick, or the Great Hall, or even the ghosts lingering. 

And this year, for the first time since Anne was seventeen, she can say that Hogwarts has been the home it once was.)

“I am happy.” Anne says, and means it. She arches her eyebrow, garling down the table at her adopted mother. “You haven’t been listening to Mrs Lynde’s ramblings about how I’m an unhappy spinster?”

The guilt is plain on Marilla’s face, but it only makes Anne laugh.

(On the topic of spinsterhood, Anne is perfectly comfortable where her life is now, but she does write Gilbert a letter, with a sprig of Avonlea evergreen leaf, to remind him of home.)

viii)

“You have no idea how happy I was to see your handwriting.” Gilbert says when they reunite, and it just might be the sweetest thing she’s ever heard.

(At the mature age of seventeen, Anne wrote him letters when he was away. Long, dashing prose, full of all the reasons she hated him, why she loved him, what she would do to see him again. She never sent them.)

It’s the first time she’s seen him in her classroom, absorbing the extent she’s gone to make her space feel more warm and loved and exciting. There’s House posters on the walls, there’s enchanted stars sticking to the ceiling, there’s a big beautiful tapestry of Green Gables in the summer, with the fabric swaying, the thread shifting and curving. It’s her corner of Avonlea she’s made, and seeing him here makes her feel strangely exposed.

“I’m glad my letter got to you.” She says, because it’s easier than telling him she’s glad he came back after Christmas this time.

ix)

And that is how their friendship seems to knit itself back together again, suddenly Anne takes walks along the grounds, Anne is more interested in magical healing than she’s ever been in her entire life, Anne wants to see Gilbert every day, and he wants to see her too. Anne has students who have questions, and he joins her in the library when she goes hunting through books to try and find the answers. Gilbert ghosts his hand over hers, and it sends a chill through her, as the months go on and on. 

What Cole said in Hogsmeade after Halloween seems to echo in the back of her head, where her days at Hogwarts are exclusively his, like it should’ve been, like it could’ve been.

x)

On her twenty fourth birthday, Gilbert surprises her by ambling the corridors reserved for the staff, keeping an apple pie behind his back. His own sleeping rooms were closer to the hospital wing, in case of emergencies late in the night.

“It’s an apple pie.” Anne says, looking at him over the crust. “You got me an apple pie for my birthday?”

His smile is wide, half-breathtaking. “Its Avonlea apples.” Gilbert says, lifting his basket up. He’d already explained that the original proposal was a nighttime picnic, but a late February storm caught him off guard. “I used some of my long-lasting Hufflepuff credibility to make it, so you better enjoy it.”

They make do, setting up on her bed, the plates and dishes set across her sheets.

“All this sneaking around, for what?” She says, laughing at his eager expression. “Just so you can be there when it’s midnight?”

“Excuse me,” Gilbert retorts, pushing his plate aside. “For wanting to be there when you officially turn twenty four.”

“It’s not a special birthday.” She points out. “It’s not like twenty five… or twenty one… or eighteen.”

There’s the briefest, briefest hint of guilt, washing across his face, as if she’s crossed into his true intentions, and the core of all of his doing.

“Compensating.” Cole’s voice drifts through her head, and she fights the urge to sigh at the lengths and measures he’s gone for this.

Anne tries something different. She looks up at him from the bed sheets, smiling softly. “My eighteenth birthday wasn’t very special.” Anne says, very matter-of-factly.

This gets his attention, with the way his eyebrows raise. “Really? How so?”

“I had a potions test.” She says, frowning at the memory. “And I remember giving a load of Gryffindors detention and that ruined my mood.”

“Surely Diana did something to make the day better? Not even a surprise party?” Teasingly, he raises the empty pie case under her chin. “Convince the house elves to let her use the kitchen to bake an apple pie?”

Anne swats it away lightly, laughing right in his face. “The way you did?”

His smile gets broader, chest pushed out just a little. In many ways, his pride is just as all-imposing and terrific as her’s, he just knows how to hide it better.

“But no, Diana did leave me a surprise, which was asking me to help her sneak Jerry into the common room.” Anne pauses to stifle her yawn behind her hand. His eyes glance to the clock in her room. “Jerry couldn’t quite get the riddle–not the way you could–and we were out there for almost an hour. At that point, I just wanted to go to sleep.”

“Like now?” He interupts he, his hands resting flat on the bed.

Teaching is something she loves, but it comes with such a tiredness it settles in her bones, dragging her off to sleep every time she tucks herself in. This time, she’s staying up for him, to watch the light play in her hazel eyes.

“Yes, like now.” She retorts, her grin turning into a frown when he waves the cutlery into the basket again, uncrossing his legs and swinging them over the side of her bed. 

“You don’t have to go yet.” Anne says, hastily. For good measure, she reaches her hand out to wrap her fingers around the soft skin of his forearm. She notices a faint burn scar under his elbow, peeking out from his rolled shirt sleeve. Anne has one in a similar place, a relic of a time before she had magical healers like him, or magic at all, in her life.

“It’s getting late.” He says, and sounds tired too.

“You could stay.” Anne asks, wishing she was half as bold as she was at Halloween, when she’d reached out and kept him next to her. This time would have to be different, which the uncertainty in his eyes.

Gilbert will probably say no, a byproduct of his respect and caution and-

“Okay.” He says instead, curling his long legs back onto the bed.

The bed dips when he lies down, the mattress broad and long enough to accommodate him and his height. The room is magically aware of them, adjusting the temperature, the lights, molding around their actions as Gilbert settles himself on top of her sheets, his chest taking one long inhale and one exhale next to her.

Anne lies down too, shifting so they’re lying opposite each other.

“Hi.” She breaths, suddenly self-conscious of their proximity. Gilbert can probably count the freckles on her face from here.

(They’ve slept like this before, out in the woods, out in the air, on the floors of their common rooms by the fire, their heads turned down on the library tables when they studied. This is not new. Watching the light make his dark curls shine is not new. Seeing his hazel eyes melt with exhaustion is not new. But for some reason, it feels like it’s the first time she’s ever seen him in this dim light, and seen just how beautiful he is.)

“Hi.” He says in return. He’s shy, and it sends a rush through Anne.

There’s a gap of time between them, their eyes meeting, as their chests rise and fall. Time means nothing here, and the numbers on her clock have all melted away. Her birthday can come and go for all she cares, if she gets this time with him.

(Distantly, Anne feels seventeen again, where she could reach out and he was there. Eighteen was too sad of an age to remember fondly.)

Gilbert breaks it first, his fingers pinching the tail of her red braid. “You never finished your story.”

“Hum?” She says, forcing herself to look away from his hazel eyes.

A laugh slips between his lips. “What happened to getting Jerry through the painting? Or did you give up?”

“Oh, we got him through, eventually, and when we got past the eagle, Diana had somehow smuggled all of our friends into the common room for a surprise party.”

“All of them?” He says, voice curious.

Anne nods sleepily, edging closer to him, until she’s holding his shirt in her hand, sighing at the way his chest is warm, how his heart beat under her palm.

“I wish I was there.” Gilbert whispers, and the full extent of his remorse is plain on his face. Anne wants to smooth the creases away, and forgive him and forgive him and forgive him for everything. “I really do.”

“You’re here now.” Anne says simply, and the last thing she sees before falling asleep is the warmth in his smile.

  1. xi) 

In 1916, Gilbert Blythe had just turned eighteen years old. When Gilbert Blythe was thirteen years old, and wrenched away from Hogwarts to help with his father’s ailing health, he found healing magic, how an extension of one’s self could heal someone else’s.

When 1916 came, Gilbert Blythe found the wizarding war effort, a snarling, underground operation that worked, mostly, as auxiliary forces. Not soldiers, but engineers, who could revive machinery discreetly, subtly, with a breath of magic. Not generals, or commanders, men on the first lines, but ordinary people, who could use the floo faster than telegrams could, who had trained owls, who could fly long distances on brooms. And through working with the Red Cross, Gilbert found a select group of mediwizards, determined to make a difference. Whatever discreet, magical training he’d received, helped him make his way through professional schooling, until he earned the right to practice medical magic.

He’d seen what the gift of magic could do to his father.

“I can’t afford medical training, muggle or magic.” Was his reasoning, and it was so easy to defend back then.

Gilbert was eighteen, and he still regrets leaving Hogwarts. He regrets never returning after Christmas. He regrets missing out on his last year of school. He regrets leaving Anne Shirley, just after she’d begun to hold his hand, just after she’d kiss him back, just after the universe seemed to push them together.

But Gilbert had to pull them apart.

He wasn’t the only one to go. Old Avonlea friends went with him. Old Hogwarts friends went with him. He never really found out who returned with him, but he knows he was one of the hundreds of thousands displaced, looking for somewhere to find himself again.

It was a blazing moment of clarity, when he found out Hogwarts was looking for a healer.

But then April hits him with a late Spring storm, and a summoning from Professor Black.

xii)

May comes with a burst of Summer, with the blossoms floating around the castle, and the sudden shock of life running through the students. Anne can see it in her classes, and how the Green Gables tapestry was covered in flowers, alive in their colors. Gilbert drops by one morning, when the students are still rousing themselves, to sit at her desk and stare at the wall.

But it isn’t Summer that brightens Anne’s mood, or even Gilbert finding reasons to spend the evenings in her rooms. It’s Diana Barry-Baynard, in deep navy blue, like a ghost of their school days, waiting for her on the bridge.

“Who collected you from the station?!” Anne says, half-agog. 

Behind her, Gilbert is leaning over the baby’s pram, waving while Jerry stands next to him. Anne wishes he would look up and find her eyes, just so he could see how happy he made her.

Diana says nothing. She does, however, smile slyly.

“Oh he’s awful.” Anne says, but doesn’t even believe it.

“I’ve promised Minnie May my morning, and then there’s her Quidditch match in the afternoon, but is there any chance we could leave Fred with you?” Diana asks, biting her lip. “Then the rest of my weekend is yours, I promise.”

Anne brushes her off, squeezing Diana’s hands. “Nonsense, my dearest Diana, he can stay with me in my room. There’s essays that need grading and classes to prepare for. Not nearly as exciting as a Quidditch match, but he’s a baby and won’t notice.” She says, almost flippantly. It makes Diana laugh.

“You never liked going to matches.” Diana says, with a rise in her brow.

“Only when you were playing.” Anne responds, bumping her elbow. Diana Barry was the best seeker Ravenclaw had in years, diving deftly between players, blithely slipping through the field until her hand found the golden snitch and the game was dragged to a halt.

It’s around midday, when Gilbert Blythe of all people is waiting in the courtyard, where students spill out of the cobblestones to head to the Quidditch field. On Quidditch days, she’s used to seeing Gilbert in his medical robes, fretting with his head tilted to the sky. But today is different, and that sends a flurry of warmth through Anne.

“I thought maybe you’d like to come down to Hogsmeade, with me?” He asks, once they’ve said goodbye to Diana and Jerry, dressed in their finest Gryffindor red. The House Cup is an exhilarating time, but Anne doesn’t feel half as sentimental as she did last year when the final came down between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Gryfinndor vs Slytherin will have to wait.

“You sure you don’t want to stay, in case someone falls off their broom or almost skulls themselves with a bludger?”

He hoists the baby more securely in his arms, letting out a dry laugh at her expression. “I’m sure the nurses will be able to handle any stray bludgers.” Gilbert’s hazel eyes are sparkling. “Come down with us, baby Fred is still playing strange with me and needs his Godmother.”

Anne nods before her head and heart can sync up.

Fred takes extremely well to Gilbert, actually, pawing at his robes, his face, climbing over his shoulders. It makes Anne laugh, while she pushes his pram down the trail to Hogsmeade, the town getting closer and closer.

It feels suddenly serene, suddenly domestic, to walk the baby around the town, a glimpse into a life Anne didn’t think she wanted, not as a wife, not as Gilbert’s.

“It sure is empty here, isn’t it?” Anne asks, before settling onto a bench. With the Quidditch match on in the school, the town is practically deserted, until the victor is announced and the celebrating House will descend on the Three Broomsticks. It was Gilbert’s idea to go further out, out of the core hub of shops, and into the wildflowers growing in the fields around the town.

She motions for Gilbert to hand her Fred, taking the dark haired baby into her arms and holding him good and long, properly after so much time apart.

“Perfect time to be here, I think.” He says, his smile more reserved than she’s seen it in a while. He sits next to her, his shoulder brushing up against hers, so their arms and thighs and legs are all aligned, watching the world tick on. Slowly, she slides her hand, the one not wrapped around the baby, closer to his, and her blood thrums when his hand moves until it’s covering hers.

“I can’t see myself in Hogwarts forever.” Gilbert finally says, as nonchalantly as he can, idly toying with the hem of his shirt. It’s suddenly all too warm, the Spring sun bearing down on her with a vengeance.

It sends a familiar ghost through Anne, the lingering cold shiver, the lasting fear that he’d leave again.

Anne was a child then, and reacted like one.

_ “-throw away everything we have then-” _

_ “What do we have Anne?” His voice was very soft and very sweet, and made the November rain feel gentle. _

“You’re leaving then, I take it?” She says, not looking up. Gilbert’s hand feels too warm, too tight around hers, but Anne fights the urge to pull her hand out and run. She’s determined to listen this time, listen and let him speak.

“I’ll finish out the term, and then I’ll just…” He squeezes her hand, as if he’s trying to hold onto her before it disappears again. Anne can’t blame him for that.

(Anne remembers sneaking into the Hufflepuff common room, lying by the fire, in those early autumn days, with Gilbert next to her, absentmindedly watching the way the fire made her hair  _ burn  _ and  _ glow _ .)

(Anne remembers being impressed when he managed to solve the eagle’s riddle, after almost twenty minutes of work and deliberation. He’d slid her hand into hers when they passed through the door and into the tower, and kissed her sweetly after he got the answer right.)

(The fact that the Hat was torn between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for him was one of their first conversations, sliding onto the same bench for potions. The debate between him and the Hat was nearly eight minutes, Anne recalls now, with the wispy chant of the head piece echoing around the hall.)

(Anne had asked for Slytherin, but it’s something she’ll never share with anyone else. The green and silver would go with her hair, her eyes, but above all, Slytherin House would be where she’d find her true friends, her kindred spirits, and all of her dreaming would be unending and her ambition―frightful, sheer, no man could fathom it―would finally find it’s source. Anne wanted to be a Slytherin so Matthew and Marilla wouldn’t be alone, but the Hat had told her  _ no _ .)

“... find something else.” Gilbert finishes, ripping her out of her reverie. She hasn’t thought about their sorting in the longest time.

“I’m sure Mungos would love a skilled healer like you.” Anne quips, trying to sound helpful.

He makes a strange face, already rejecting the offer. “I think I’ve had enough of emergency medicine to last me the longest time.” Gilbert’s voice takes a wistful turn, soft and sweet. “I was thinking of something a little smaller, like a practice somewhere remote, without all of the stress.”

With the most sincere eyes, he shifts so he’s sitting opposite her and Fred now dozing on her lap. “Hogwarts has taught me about patient care and being local and on-call, but I want to be somewhere more permanent than Hogwarts. Somewhere that’s mine.” He looks to her, with all of his dreams for the future, but all Anne can think of is some horrible, twisted tragedy, and she’s alone again, and Gilbert Blythe is gone from her life again. “Do you understand what I mean, Anne?” He murmurs, his head dipping closer to hers.

“I understand perfectly, Gilbert.” Anne pulls her hand away from his, and even from their distance, she can see the red flares and fireworks alive in the clear blue sky, announcing Gryffindor’s triumph over Slytherin. Anne stands from the bench, tucking Fred into his pram, avoiding Gilbert’s heavy, hazel eyes. “We should probably head back, Diana wouldn’t want to think we’ve ran off with her baby.”

“Anne-”

“I hope you find your small practice. You deserve it.” Anne says quickly, turning her back to him. What feels worse, is that she actually means it. Gilbert deserves more 

_ “You’ll write, won’t you?” He’d asked, very gently. Anne had nodded, and never sent anything. _

She’d shut him out before, and it broke her heart.

(At first, she thought she deserved it, after how awfully she treated him. It seemed fair, for him to turn around after all that time and give her a taste of her own treatment. She was fifteen then, still half a child, when he told her he loved her in the herbology conservatories, and Anne was cruel and told him to never, ever say that again.)

“You’ve misunderstood me, haven’t you.” Gilbert says, just as she starts to walk away.

“There’s nothing to misunderstand.” Anne says back, determined to keep pushing the pram forward.

“There’s everything to misunderstand!” He calls after her. “I love you, Anne, and you’re walking away from me.”

His words bring her heart to a skidding halt, scraped across her lungs as she pauses, her knuckles turning white on the pram’s handle. He sounded so sincere when he said it, so sure of himself, that this is how he feels and this is what he wants. Anne has never been able to articulate her struggles of the heart, to open her chest and let the prose pour out.

“You left me.” Anne says. She says it like a fact. The Wizarding World as a whole didn’t fight in the Great War. Yet he did.

(She will not mention, all of the heartache and pain and sorrow of fearing if he was dead or alive, late nights wondering where the Red Cross had sent her boy. That was where the real heartache lay, that he ascended into the unknown, exactly where she couldn’t follow.)

“And I’ve regretted it ever since.” He says, and she hears him step closer, rounding the pram until he’s standing right in front of her, firm and all-imposing and very, very fragile. There’s an unspoken pain to his voice, like he’s let his lost years slip out to her, and the ghosts are wrapped around his breath.

“I thought you stopped loving me. That actually, you never loved me.” Anne’s voice falters, for just the smallest fraction. “I thought you’d changed your mind, after all this time.”

“If I changed my mind,” Gilbert says, rooting around his pockets until he procures his wallet. It’s old and faded and worn, his father’s, his most precious keepsake. “Then why have I kept this with me since we were sixteen?”

It’s one of those awful muggle photos Cole insisted on getting taken, years before, when the floo system had been jammed and they were stuck in London for three days of Christmas Break. Sixteen year old Anne is still, frozen in the frame, half-laughing, half-snorting, her hands blurry. But she’s fixed, decidedly, incredibly happy, because she remembers Gilbert making faces behind the camera.

“I kept it with me the whole time.” He says slowly. Beneath them, Fred hardly stirs, sleeping soundly. “And when I was sick, and I thought I was going to die, I kept you with me too.”

Gilbert’s eyes never leave hers. “You don’t have to say it back. But please don’t think I’m leaving you. I've never been away from you.”

_ (“Please say it back, Anne. Please say you love me too.”) _

In her Seventh year, she was never able to say it, even when she held all of him in her heart.

“That practice I was talking about?” He says, his right hand coming up to cup her right elbow. “There hasn’t been a healer in Hogsmeade in almost fifteen years. Residents from the village normally just go to the hospital wing for treatment, but I can change that, and Professor Black wants me to change that.” On impulse, she closes her eyes, shuddering when his forehead leans down to rest against hers, his fingers overlapping hers on the handle of the pram. “Meaning I could work here and you could teach and we could stay together.”

Anne’s silent for a few moments, her heart thrumming against her chest. She lets herself swim in his words, lets herself savour the weight of him against her, and will herself to remember that this isn’t a dream.

It’s just the slightest distance between them, to push up on her feet and press her lips to his.

xiii)

(Suddenly Anne is seventeen again, and she can feel the train sway around her. The new prefects file out of the compartment, back to their own carriages with their own friends, leaving the Head Boy and Head Girl alone. The train jerks, she remembers, her back pressed abruptly against the window, and Gilbert Blythe pressed against her, her forehead knocking into his collarbones.

“Sorry, Anne.” He said, his hands flat on the window. She could see the blush bloom on his cheeks.

She’d felt the strangest pull then, as if every cell in her body suddenly turned to light, and every ounce of love she felt pushed her forehead. Her hand curled into the front of his jumper, just under his Hufflepuff crest, just under his heart. Gilbert 

“Can you kiss me, Gilbert?” Anne asked, her head hazy.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He said, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’ve wanted you to kiss me for a while.”

It was their first, but it wasn’t their last, until the snow started to fall.)

xiv)

“You do know I love you, right?” Anne says, after he slides the door to their train carriage closed. He’ll be back in Hogsmeade at the end of July, but at least he’s coming back to Avonlea, for the first time since he was eighteen.

It catches him off guard, hearing her say it so plainly, so openly. She can see it in the way his eyes widen, his lips parting gently.

“I know I’ve never said it before.” Anne says, playing with the sleeve of her travelling robes. “And I am really sorry for that-”

He’s next to her in an instant, gripping her hands in his.

“Don’t ever apologize.” Gilbert says, pressing kisses all around her face. “I’m yours, now and always.”

Anne finds she likes the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !!!  
tho i do want to ask , i have maybe two more chapters / concepts around axg in hogwarts , would any1 be interested in reading that ??? ive written one abt minnie may but its still shirbert centered and then the others are abt their childrens sorting placements ! i might just upload them anyway For The Craic but id just like to know !! thanks again !!!  
also another sidenote would be that i notice a trend in hp wizards and witches have Longass names with a million middle names and anne is incredibly jealous bc she doesnt even have one . gilbert has like five . also minnie mays full name being minerva is a headcanon of mine purely bc how sweet would it be to have diana (goddess of the moon) and minerva (goddess of wisdom) for childrens names

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is basically 'how to work with the guy who ghosted you to fight in world war i' . also firmly believe gilbert's logic for joining the war is the same as jem's during rilla of ingleside but hey i havent read the books


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